WHILE MAKING supper salads and awaiting my child bride’s return from the gym, I stepped outside about 7:30 into the cool night air to look at the stars.
And to feel that cool night air.
Looking back into where I had been standing at the chopping board just moments before, I said to myself, my, that looks nice. So I got the camera.
I make the best salads in Mexico. That’s not saying much because Mexicans don’t know how to make salads. A little iceberg lettuce topped with a tomato and onion slice, squeeze of lime juice, and there you have it. A Mexican excuse for a salad.
My sister-in-law once ate a salad at a Gringo’s house here. The next day she commented that it was full of raw vegetables — didn’t care for it much.
I not only make the best salad in Mexico, I make better salads than you’ll usually find above the Rio Bravo too. About the only exception is the Cafe Express chain in Texas.
After a few minutes standing outside, I went back into the kitchen to finish chopping and slicing. Then I heard the front gate grind open, and I knew I was alone no more.
It was salad time.